


with nimble wing

by Sinna



Series: Birds of a Feather [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hints at Evie/Lucy but not enough to tag, Multi, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinna/pseuds/Sinna
Summary: "Poor little Evie. No mother to teach her how to be a woman.”Evie knows who she is. If only the rest of the world cared enough to see it.





	with nimble wing

When Evie was twelve years old, she and Jacob had raced to the top of the steeple. Two sets of newly fledged black wings beat forcefully against the wind that sought to tear them from the sky.

“What are you children doing?!”

The white robed and white winged priest launched himself from an upper window and followed them up.

Evie propelled herself the last few feet and landed on the steeple.

“I win!” she crowed in delight.

Jacob landed next to her.

“Cheat! I was distracted!”

“Not my fault!”

“Children!”

Father Michael had landed on the roof below them. Like most, his largely unused wings couldn’t sustain the sort of height or distance flying Ethan Frye was training his children for.

“Both of you. Come down here.”

The twins shared a look, but after a moment both glided down to stand in front of the priest.

Jacob stood with clenched fists, wings still outstretched as if to take flight any second. They must be just as tired as Evie's own wings, but God forbid Jacob not look as rebellious as possible every second of the day.

Evie herself folded her wings and hands neatly. Father always said it was better to make sure people thought they were getting what they wanted from you if you wanted to stay out of trouble.

It seemed to work. Father Michael turned his attention to her brother.

“Jacob, I’m disappointed in you. I certainly don’t expect anything better than dangerous stunts from a boy of your age, but dragging your sister into it really isn’t acceptable.”

“She started it!” Jacob insisted.

It was true. Evie usually won their races, so of course they were her favorite form of competition. Jacob might be a little stronger, but he couldn’t beat her speed.

“Don’t lie to me. Evie has better things to do than indulge you in your childish games. If you must continue to act so recklessly, find some of the other boys to play with.”

“None of them can keep up with me like Evie can,” Jacob grumbled.

“Jacob!”

Jacob glared, but said nothing more.

“Are we dismissed, Father?” Evie asked primly.

Something about the whole conversation was making her uncomfortable. It had been far too easy to convince Father Michael of her innocence. As if, for some reason, he didn’t even believe her capable of acting badly, just because she was a girl.

“Yes, dear. Take the stairs down.”

Both of them groaned.

“Take the stairs, or I’ll have another talk with your father.”

That sent them scampering for the staircase.

“Race you to the bottom!” Evie whispered.

Jacob hesitated for only a moment.

“You’re on!”

\--

Nearly ten years later, it still rankled Evie every time someone assumed less of her because she was a woman. She’d gotten good at burying the feeling. Her father was right - it was valuable to be underestimated – but she sometimes wished it was a little harder to convince people she was weak. A woman might rule the British Empire, but that didn’t make things any better for the women who didn’t have the power of an entire nation behind them.

It was one of the reasons Evie found herself respecting Lucy Thorne. Despite their insurmountable moral differences, it sometimes felt like Miss Thorne was the only person who understood her struggles as a woman in a world where women were expected to be demur and defanged.

Evie never bothered to try to fool the templar into underestimating her. It would be a waste of time. Miss Thorne could tell with a look how strong Evie was, and anything less than her best would be an insult. Not to mention it would mean Evie’s death.

So she hid in the shadows, heart pounding in her chest, and watched Miss Thorne, waiting for her opportunity to strike. She watched the way Miss Thorne ordered around men twice her age with impudence, and they jumped to obey her. If only she could teach Evie that trick. The Rooks were happy to obey her if she asked, but she always got the feeling they were humoring her more than anything.

“Assassin, I know you’re there,” Miss Thorne remarked to the room in general, having dismissed her men.

It should have been the perfect moment to strike, but Evie found herself hesitating. She told herself it was because she needed more information about the shroud, but she couldn’t deny that she was loath to actually end their little game.

“If you’re not going to try to kill me, you might as well come down from there so we can talk. Woman to woman.”

After a moment, Evie dropped from the rafters, gliding to a near-silent landing behind Miss Thorne, who didn’t even have the good grace to look surprised at her sudden appearance.

“Miss Frye.”

“Miss Thorne.”

“Please, call me Lucy.”

Evie remained silent, trying to figure out what game was being played here.

“You’re not very charming, are you, Miss Frye?”

“Charm was not a high priority in my education,” she said evenly.

“No, I can’t imagine so. Raised surrounded by men. Poor little Evie. No mother to teach her how to be a woman.”

Evie threw a punch. Lucy caught it easily enough.

“Rule number one. You’re not allowed to get angry. Your brother can blow up all he wants, but the second you express your displeasure in anything more than a hooded barb, everyone looks at you differently. Isn’t that right?”

“What of it?”

“My father sent me to boarding school when I was eleven. My knuckles were a permanent shade of purple from my teachers' rulers. ‘Unladylike behavior,’ they called it.”

Evie winced at the phrase, remembering the many times people had said the same of her.

Lucy’s hand followed the line of Evie’s arm up to her shoulder and out to her still-outstretched wings.

“I’d so love to have someone like you beside me.”

Evie pulled her wings away sharply, finally convincing her body to react appropriately to the Templar’s touch.

“There is no one like me.”

“Oh, I know.”

The conversation was quickly derailing. Or something. Evie wasn’t sure what was happening. She searched for the right words to take back control of the situation, but couldn’t find them.

Jumping out the open window was hardly the most mature choice – or the most ladylike, for that matter – but that didn’t matter. She had to get away.

She felt Lucy’s eyes watching her go for far longer than was possible.

When she finally killed Lucy Thorne, she almost regretted it.

\--

The dress she could deal with. It was far fancier and more restrictive than the dresses she'd worn back at home on the occasions when even Ethan Frye's reputation of eccentric wealth wouldn’t have been enough to convince visitors to overlook his daughter's unusual style of dress. But it was a dress all the same, and Evie would have been foolish not to be able to fight in any sort of getup she might find herself wearing for an infiltration mission.

But the elaborate wing ornamentation was new. She'd done her best to weasel out of it, but Henry had insisted that she’d stand out too much.

So now her wings were tucked up against her back, wrapped in delicate silver chains and wispy fabrics and _completely_ _useless_.

“Look at that. We match,” Jacob teased, gesturing to his own broken and bandaged wing.

She could never decide if it was endearing or annoying how he managed to always be oblivious to the restrictions society placed on her. The broken wing would heal. Evie would never be able to fully escape the attempts to bind her wings, even when she did take off the physical bindings.

“Don’t think I won’t kick your ass the second I get this off,” she hissed.

“Don’t worry, sweet sister. I’m still prettier than you.”

She would have jumped at him – tightlacing and wing ornaments be dammed – if Henry hadn’t chosen that exact moment to enter the train car.

He'd watched her commit murders, and somehow she was still afraid that if he saw too many of her sharp edges it would damage this… something… growing between them.

“Are you ready?” he asked, eyes never leaving her.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Evie griped.

“You look lovely, Miss Frye,” Henry choked out with a lopsided smile.

Evie smiled back, expertly hiding her disappointment.

\--

_“Requiescat in pace”_

\--

“Another dress?” Evie asked with a sigh when Henry asked her to come with him to a garden party to investigate the threat to the Maharaja.

She was fully prepared for another lecture about not standing out in polite society.

Henry took in the look on her face.

“I suppose it's not a necessity,” he admitted. “This is hardly a royal ball.”

“But you’d prefer it,” Evie said.

“It would be simpler,” Henry admitted.

Evie looked away. Simpler. Of course. It would be simpler for him to love an assassin like her mother – clever and ladylike and always able to play the part of the perfect innocent. A pretty dove to decorate his arm at parties and poison his enemies as she did so.

She wished she could be that. For Henry, she wished it. But she had always been more like her father – wild and angry and quick to lash out at others when she was hurting.

She tried her best to soften the worst parts of her nature. She didn’t actually want to be her father. But she also didn’t want to clip her own wings to make other people more comfortable.

She'd already taken a breath for a sharp remark, when Henry's hand moved to rest on her back, in the sensitive spot just between her wings, momentarily robbing her of breath.

“Of course, I’ve never much cared for doing things the simple way,” he said with a soft smile. “Wear what you like. I'll just be happy to have you with me.”

She melted into his touch and his words. After a moment, she leaned in to kiss him.

Just for that, she'd wear her least bloodstained coat.


End file.
